Everyday life as a Domina

Tag Archives: figging

So all three of my boys’ birthdays are within a month of each other. Kazander’s birthday is right around the Sagittarius/Capricorn cusp, Steel’s birthday is about two weeks after that, and Sounder’s birthday is about two weeks after Steel’s. On top of that, my birthday is about two weeks after Sounder’s. And on top of that, both Sounder and I are starting new decades this year. He’s turning 40, and I’m turning 30.

I swear, I didn’t plan all that.

So birthdays have been at the forefront of my mind lately. And with that in mind, I decided to write a bit of erotica inspired by the birthday theme, and by the boys celebrating them.

I came home after having dinner with friends to find my boy right where I left him three hours ago; naked, gagged with a locking gag, stuffed with a locking butt plug, and lying in his cage in the middle of the living room.

He looked up at me as I walked in the door, whimpering. His jaw and ass were no doubt sore, and I was sure the whimpering was his way of begging me to remove the things inside him.

But he’d have to be sore for a little while longer. I set my keys and purse down on the table just inside the door, slid off my shoes, and walked past him without acknowledging him. I made my way into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of wine, then returned to the living room to sit on the couch beside his cage.

“How was your night?” I asked grinning.

He grunted softly, squirming. It was obvious from his body language that he was in pain, but he slowly, tenderly picked himself up and knelt on all fours, watching as I leisurely drank my wine.

“Please,” he murmured, the single word muffled practically beyond recognition by the gag.

My grin widened. “What’s the matter?” I asked innocently. “Don’t you like being gagged and plugged for me?”

He whined, lowering his eyes, and nodded slowly. A long sigh escaped him, and I chuckled, knowing what he was thinking. He assumed I would make him keep the gag and plug in for quite a bit longer.

I waited a moment, watching him while I sipped my wine, letting him continue thinking that just a bit longer, then set my glass down on the end table.

“Well, I’m in a generous mood,” I said, pulling two keys from inside my bra. “I guess I’ll let you relax for now.”

I knelt down beside the cage, reaching between the bars and pushing his head down so I could reach the small padlock at the back of his head. I quickly unlocked it, then unbuckled it and removed the gag.

He groaned, tenderly flexing his jaw, his eyes closed and his face scrunched up in pain. “Thank you, Domina,” he said quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I replied, rising to my feet and walking around the cage to stand behind him. I unlocked the plug, closed it, and gently pulled it out of him.

He gasped, tensing, and I smiled. “A little sore?”

“A little,” he answered, his voice tight as I pulled the plug out of him. I took my time, moving extremely slowly, savoring the pain it caused him and his soft whines and moans, and the way his body tensed, his hands clenched into fists. The cage was just big enough to accommodate him while he was on all fours. He didn’t have the room to try and squirm away from me.

Finally, it slid all the way out, and he moaned in relief, dropping to his stomach, breathing heavily.

“That’s a good boy,” I said. “Do you feel better now?”

“Yes, Domina,” he said, sighing.

I left the room, going back to the kitchen, where I grabbed his dog bowl and filled it with water. I also poured another glass of wine.

I brought both back to the living room, and slid the dog bowl through the small slot designed for feeding him, and set the glass of wine down beside it. He looked up at me, obviously confused by the wine.

“I’m in a generous mood,” I said with a shrug. “And I’m going to take a shower. Here’s the TV remote. You can watch something until I get back.”

“May I come out of the cage?” he asked quietly.

I laughed. “Why would I let you out? You belong in there.”

He lowered his gaze. “Yes, Domina.”

“That’s a good boy,” I said, handing him the remote. “I’ll be back.”

I finished my wine and headed to the bathroom, and got into the shower, sighing as the warm water ran over me. I relaxed, taking my time. I also took the opportunity to shave my legs. I was in no rush.

Finally, I turned off the water, dried off, and changed into a tank top and my favorite pajama pants. They were thick, soft, and warm, and I wore them all the time.

I came back downstairs to find him sitting upright, leaning back against the bars of the cage. Both the wine glass and the dog bowl were more than half empty. I quickly refilled my wine glass, and walked back into the living room.

“Still sore?” I asked, taking the remote from him.

“A little,” he answered.

I looked down at him, sitting in his cage. He looked so cute.

The cage had been custom built by a friend of mine, made specifically for him. I’d designed it to be restricting, but comfortable enough for extended periods. It was just long enough to accommodate him while he was on all fours, and just tall enough for him to sit upright. The bars were spaced wide enough apart that he could slide his legs through if he needed to stretch out, but not wide enough to allow his head through.

At the front of the cage, near the bottom, was a narrow slot that allowed me to slide a dog bowl inside, so I could feed him without unlocking the door. Above that was a locking metal ring that I could remove to create a hole just big enough for him to stick his head through. Once it was through, I could lock the ring around his neck, keeping him in place.

The bottom of the cage was lined with a thick, firm mat to protect his knees when he was on all fours, and to give him some level of comfort during those times that I decided to keep him caged all day (or all weekend).

It didn’t have wheels, but I’d gotten furniture sliders to put underneath it, so I could easily push the cage wherever I wanted.

Now, I pushed the cage back so it was flush against the couch, then lied down on the couch and spread out, reaching through the bars of the cage and idly running the tips of my fingers across his shoulders, neck, and chest while I sipped my wine and watched TV.

But my boy is sexy, and turns me on, and it wasn’t too terribly long before I wanted to make him squirm. I turned off the TV, unlocked the cage, clipped a leash to his collar, and led him out. I gave him a moment to stretch. This was the first opportunity he’d had to stand upright all day. Even when letting him take those pesky bathroom breaks he insisted on, I made him crawl on his hands and knees.

I gave him a moment, then led him into the kitchen, where I grabbed a paring knife and a finger of ginger. His face went pale as he watched me peel and carve it into the size and shape I wanted.

I grinned at his reaction. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Not particularly looking forward to this?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Well, I am.”

He gave a resigned sigh, tearing his eyes away from the ginger in my hands to meet my gaze. “Then I’m looking forward to making you happy.”

“Good boy.”

I finished carving it and handed it to him. His eyes widened. “You’re done?” he asked, taking it.

“Yeah. Why?”

“It’s just big.”

I smiled. “It’s not that big. You’ll be fine.”

I led him into the bedroom, where I made him lie on his back, and used the under-the-bed restraints to cuff his hands. I cuffed his ankles and tied them to rings welded into the wrought-iron headboard, forcing his legs up and leaving him nice and open and exposed.

I knelt down on the bed and shoved a finger in his mouth, getting it nice and wet before softly, gently rubbing it against his sore hole. He closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle touch.

Not even a full minute passed before the soft whines started. “Please, Domina,” he begged, squirming as much as he could in that position.

I interrupted him by sliding my finger smoothly inside. I had to interrupt him. If I didn’t, the begging would inevitably devolve into a barely-intelligible stream of slutty drivel.

For a few moments, I slowly fingered him, letting him enjoy himself. “You like this, don’t you, slut?” I asked him. “You live for this. You love being stuffed, being filled, being fucked. I know you love it. You crave it. This hole is mine, little boy. I own it, and I own you.”

“Yes, Domina,” he gasped, unable to control the whines and moans escaping him as he squirmed, trying to push himself further down on my finger, trying to feel me even deeper inside him.

I chuckled. “Such an eager little bitch. But I have other plans for this hole. I know you don’t think I was going to let you off with just fingering tonight.”

He pouted for just a moment as I pulled my finger out of him, but went very still when I grabbed the ginger.

I worked it in gently. He was going to be in enough pain soon. There was no reason to make it worse on his already-abused hole.

Once it was all the way in, I released his legs, letting him lie flat on his back. His arms were still restrained, but I left his legs free. I wanted to watch him squirm.

It didn’t take long. Within moments, he was beginning to feel the effects. I could see the tension rolling through his body, and he started pulling against his restraints, his breathing becoming heavier by the second.

“That’s a good boy,” I told him. “It hurts already, doesn’t it? But you know it’s going to get a lot worse. I’m going to make you scream tonight, little slut. I’m going to break you, I’m going to destroy that self-control of yours. You’re going to scream, you’re going to cry. And if the first finger doesn’t work, I’ll just go and carve another one and start all over again. I can do this all night. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me. All you can do is let go, and hope that I’m feeling merciful when the effects of the first one start to wear off.”

To emphasize my point, I reached down between his legs and squeezed his ass cheeks together, a move I knew would momentarily exacerbate the pain.

He cried out, his entire body tense, squirming uncontrollably on the bed. I grinned, watching him in silence for a moment, watching him wrestle with the pain.

I was half-tempted to stand back the entire time and watch him, and then go carve up another to put inside him. I knew the pain by itself wouldn’t be enough to get the reaction I wanted from him. But twenty minutes to half an hour of pain certainly wouldn’t hurt my cause. Especially since I’d aged and fermented this ginger, making it quite a bit more potent than it would’ve been if I’d just bought it that day.

But no, I wouldn’t need the second round. I was determined to break him, and I knew how to do it.

I knelt beside him, running my fingers along his body, down his ribs, across his chest. After a moment, I gripped his cock, slowly stroking him to full mast.

It didn’t take long. That’s the awesome thing about figging. The pain by itself is unbelievably hot, but with just a little prompting, it becomes a massive aphrodisiac. I knew how to use that combination.

I hovered over his rock-hard cock, spitting on it to get it wet, then began stroking in earnest. Less than a minute later, he reached his first edge – the first of many.

“That’s a good boy,” I told him. “Look how hard you are. You must really be enjoying this. Aww, you look so cute trying to hold on to that control. But you know it’s a battle you can’t win. I’m going to break you tonight. There’s no getting around it. It’s going to happen. The sooner you accept that inevitability, the better off you’ll be. Because I own this cock, and I own this little boy cunt, and I’m going to abuse them until I get what I want. And I have absolutely nowhere else I need to be.”

By the time I finished speaking, he’d reached his second edge, and I couldn’t help but smile. This would be easier than I thought.

I leaned forward and began licking and nibbling his ear, keeping my hand on his cock, slowly stroking him to one edge after another after another. Each time, I’d only pause for a couple of seconds, just long enough to bring him back from the edge, but keeping him close to it.

And as sensitive as his neck and ears were, keeping him right on the edge was beyond easy. It was making sure I didn’t accidentally go too far that I had to be mindful of. I didn’t want him cumming yet. I wasn’t done with him.

His moans got louder, his voice got higher as the sensations began to overwhelm him. For a moment, I released my hold on his cock and reached down to push the ginger further inside him, intensifying the pain. And that elicited the first delicious scream of the night.

I couldn’t help but smile triumphantly as I raised myself up to look down at him, studying the pain and the helplessness in his face, watching him as he finally started to accept the inevitability. He knew me well enough to know that I don’t make idle threats. I would keep this up for as long as it took to get what I wanted from him. There would be no rest, no relief, until I got what I wanted. I wouldn’t let up until I had utterly and thoroughly broken him.

Fighting the screams and fighting the tears would do nothing but prolong the torture. And since my sadism knows no bounds, I had absolutely zero problem with prolonging the torture.

He closed his eyes, his chest heaving, and I grinned, reaching down to continue edging him with one hand as I teased his nipples with the other. As he neared yet another edge, I leaned forward, taking a nipple between my teeth, and bit down hard just as he reached the edge. Another scream and a surge in his cock were my rewards.

And because I’m a fan of symmetry, I repeated the process with the other nipple. By that time, it was less than ten seconds between edges, and I could only stroke him a couple of times before pausing. He was howling and thrashing around on the bed, but I wasn’t done with him yet.

I went back to his neck and his ear, teasing him, licking him, keeping him overwhelmed, keeping the pleasure just as intense as the pain.

When I bit down on his earlobe, his scream was loud enough to hurt my ears.

But then, as the scream faded, I heard the sound I’d been waiting for. His scream ended in a sob.

He was breaking.

But he wasn’t broken yet. If I stopped now, he’d regain control, and a single sob would be all I’d get.

And that wasn’t enough for me.

I reached down to push against the ginger again while tonguing his ear relentlessly. He turned his head, trying to push me away, but he was far beyond overwhelmed, and it made him weak. He couldn’t fight me, and he knew it.

“Please,” he begged, the word broken by another sob. He couldn’t hold on to that self-control anymore, he couldn’t keep it together anymore, he couldn’t handle it anymore.

“No,” I murmured into his ear before biting down on him again.

No, I wasn’t done with him yet. I wasn’t going to let him rest yet. I knew he couldn’t handle it. That was the whole point.

I kept going, keeping him on that edge, combining the pleasure and pain, making sure both remained intense enough to overwhelm him just on their own, much less combined, and with the aphrodisiac of the ginger inside him.

I kept a close eye on the time. I knew that I only had twenty minutes, maybe half an hour if I was lucky, before the effects would start wearing off. And I wanted to make sure he came while it was still at its peak.

So I kept going, kept pushing him, until tears streamed down his face and he was crying openly. I felt like I’d been torturing him for hours, but in reality, it had been barely more than twenty minutes, and he was a broken, writhing, sobbing, wrecked mess of a boy.

He was broken, and I was out of time. If I waited any longer, I risked the effects being less intense.

I lifted myself up to straddle his thigh, using my knee to push the ginger further into him while tonguing his ear and stroking his cock. He screamed, arching his back, his entire body tense as the orgasm I’d spent the last twenty minutes building finally exploded out of him.

He sobbed openly and loudly, my sweet, broken little boy. I quickly wiped him clean with a towel, then unfastened his cuffs and pulled him into my arms. I left the ginger inside him, letting it continue burning him as he retreated into my arms, still writhing, burying his face in my neck and clinging desperately to me as he sobbed.

“That’s a good boy,” I murmured, running my fingertips lightly along his back. “You can rest, now. You’ve done good.”

As the effects of the ginger wore off and the burning subsided, his sobs gradually quieted, until he was silent, breathing deeply, resting curled up against me.

Finally, I pulled away, sitting up. He whined in protest, reaching for me, but I gently pushed his hand away. I knelt between his legs, pushing them far apart, exposing his hole, and slowly pulled the ginger out.

He gasped, his hands clenching into fists, then relaxed as I pulled it all the way out.

I looked down at him affectionately as he lied still on the bed. I’d pushed him harder than I ever had before. I’d broken him, brought him low.

Smiling, I lied back down next to him, chuckling as he reached for me, once more burying his face against my body. Sated, exhausted, and completely relaxed, he took a deep breath, and let out a sigh of contentment as he snuggled closer to me. A sweet, slutty puddle of boy, just the way I liked him.

Figging is probably one of my top-ten favorite things to do. Kazander is notorious for not letting go of his self-control when we play, and he’s not a huge fan of pain. It’s amazing how well an innocent little piece of ginger can fix those problems. Continue reading →

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This is an 18+ blog about my day-to-day life as a Domina, wife, mother, and all that other crap. A chronicle of me. While this blog focuses primarily on the D/s aspect of my life and my relationships with Kazander, Steel, and Sounder, it is not exclusive to that subject, and I might talk about my kid, or my annoying mother, or my sister's pet cat, or whatever the hell I feel like talking about.

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It begins over a friendly disagreement, during which you smile, roll your eyes, and say, “Go fuck yourself.”

“But, Ma’am, that’s physically impossible.”

You smirk and ask how certain I am of this. On a roll, I launch into a smug and tangential rant about the anatomical impossibility of an individual’s being capable of fucking oneself. Your response is to merely shrug, smile, and make a cryptic statement:

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